In the heart of a desolate mountain range, where jagged peaks pierced the sky and a perpetual twilight hung over the landscape, Akaza stood poised. His pink hair shimmered faintly in the dim light, his eyes ablaze with a predatory yellow gleam framed by blue sclera. The air around him crackled with latent power, a testament to his centuries of existence as a demon of formidable strength.
A lone Demon Slayer approached cautiously, sword drawn and nerves taut. Akaza's senses tingled with anticipation, his Social Darwinist beliefs fueling a hunger for the clash ahead. The Demon Slayer, a seasoned warrior with determination etched on their face, steadied themselves, unaware of the magnitude of the adversary before him.
— “Ah, another challenger,"
Akaza mused aloud, his voice carrying a hint of amusement tinged with disdain for what he perceived as weakness. He took a step forward, the ground beneath his bare feet trembling faintly.
— “You've come seeking death, haven't you?"